Grifter Beyond
by King of 2211
Summary: "I'm not much of a hero. Who am I you ask? Name's Zach Griffin, but you'll come to know me . . . as the Grifter . . .". OCxOC. T for violence, language and blood.
1. Chapter 1

**Yo, what up JL archive? King here again, but now doing a completely different fic than Legend of the Seeker. This is the start of the first, or maybe just one of the very few, stories to star the gun-towing telepath; Grifter. Yes, I know, Grif is a Wildstorm character and has only recently entered DC through the New 52 storyline, but I'm hoping to inspire anyone who's read anything Wildstorm related (or at least seen the WildCats animated series) to add more fics with Wildstorm characters. For those who may wonder, I'm coinciding this with the Batman Beyond series done by a good friend of mine; Nomad88. I had to have his permission first and foremost, and now that I have it, let the show begin!**

**Disclaimer: Like my good friend, Nomad, I OWN NOTHING! EVERYTHING BUT OCs BELONGS TO DC!**

* * *

**Prologue: Interrogation**

**Neo-Blüdhaven PD: Year 2042**

Walking through the nearly overcrowded Police Headquarters was **Captain David Lane **(no relation to retired veteran reporter **Lois Lane** of Neo-Metropolis) a tall, well-built man wearing a grey long-sleeved shirt with a gun holster, white coat, and black pants and boots. The man himself appeared to be middle-aged, give or take mid-fifties who stood about 6 feet tall with short reddish-brown hair, tan skin and faded green eyes. He turned to his right and entered a small observation room with two more high-ranked officers. Looking through the one-way mirror into the interrogation room, he saw a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties wearing a badly ripped black long-sleeved shirt, brown cargo pants, and brown boots. It was hard to tell how tall he was since both his arms were restrained to the chair he was sitting on, but from the looks of things; he had a nicely muscular upper body, chiseled square jaw, messy shoulder-length blonde hair, and crystal-blue eyes. His appearance, despite his torn clothing and bruised up face, his left eye swelled up bruise, would have the ladies swooning over him. He remained silent, his face passive and emotionless as he scanned the room he was in; almost as though it was a common activity. On a table within the observation room with the following contents: variety of gadgets that it was hard to tell, three belt-like objects, two gun like weapons that looked as though they belonged in a Star Trek series, a collapsible baton, and a red face mask with one-way lenses and black lines over both eyes that stopped below the chin. But the one thing that had his full attention was the sword, a straight-bladed Japanese Katana. Odd, weren't Japanese blades curved?

"Great timing as usual Cap." The officer remarked, a personal file in hand.

He kept his glance on the bound youth when he asked, "Alright, who do we have?"

"**Zachary Griffin**, goes by the name "**Griff**" rather than "Zach"; Age: 21; Date of Birth: Unknown, but estimated to be October 25; Family: Unknown. Grew up in an orphanage and Juvenile Hall in Gotham City til the age of 18, then got a job as a janitor at a local law firm here in Blüdhaven. Growing up, he showed signs of anti-social behavior and besides causing so much trouble for everyone, adult and child alike at the orphanage, he's been charged with the following: breaking and entering, minor assault, theft and robbery, and sending a few guys that tried to mug him to the hospital. Found him barely alive outside what was left of the condemned cannery along with members of the **Sons of Anarky**, led by **Alexander** **Machin**; son of the original **Anarky Lonnie Machin**, though he wasn't part of the body count. It's currently unknown what happened or the cause, but it seems that there was an explosion."

"Anything Else?"

"Well, aside from his weird sense of fashion, he apparently calls himself the . . . "**Grifter**"?"

"The hell kinda name is that?"

"Not sure. But after some cross-referencing, we were able to find out that there was a guy with the same name . . . during the Golden Age."

The captain looked at the other officer incredulously, "Golden Age? Of heroes?"

This question went unanswered when the door to the interrogation room opened and a middle-aged man in a business suit and holding a briefcase in hand entered. He had dark-mocha colored skin, short ebony-black hair, neatly trimmed mustache and hazelnut colored eyes. The young man, Griff, merely kept his emotionless glance as he watched the man place his briefcase on the table and took a seat across from him. Opening the briefcase, the man took out a sort of box like device and placed it to the right corner, then pressed a button that made the device float up in the air. The young man was certain this was to record the conversation that was about to take place, evident when he saw a police officer enter the room and stand in the corner. Not exactly Good Cop/Bad Cop, but obviously he was there for when things got out of hand. The hard stare the cop gave the young man certainly proved it.

"Good evening, Mr. Griffin-"

"Griff." The young man interjected, his voice low and scratchy.

"I beg your pardon?" The older man asked.

"I prefer to be called "Griff", please."

"Alright then, Griff, my name if Dr. Garrison Holt. Do you know why you're here?"

"It's because of the cannery, I know, they should've left me to die . . ."

This made the Dr. raise an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

Griff merely shrugged. "No family, no friends, barely any money for ends meet, nothing to support myself. I've got absolutely nothing in this life."

"I see, nonetheless, "

"Well, seeing as you're not doing the whole Good Cop/Bad Cop crap, what the hell. Fire away."

Dr. Holt nodded as he took out a few sheets of paper.

"From the reports, there were many members of the Sons of Anarky-"

"The so-called "**Voices of the People**", what a load of slag." Griff remarked.

Ignoring the remark, the Dr. continued reading. "-There were also people around who claimed to have heard shouting and sounds of gunfire within the cannery right before it blew up. May I ask what had happened?"

"Why not ask any of the SoAs?"

"Because those who weren't in a catatonic state have either suffered major concussions or in deep shock of what had happened."

"Which is why you're asking me, because I'm the one who appears to be in better shape." Griff deduced.

"Precisely." Dr. Holt nodded.

Apparently being fed up with the quiet mood, the officer in the corner advanced to the table, which didn't go unnoticed by the young blonde.

"Before soldier boy here says anything, no, I didn't cause that explosion." Griff stated, making the cop stop in his tracks. "But I do know who did."

"Can you please elaborate?" Dr. Holt Asked politely.

"Maybe, not entirely sure you'll believe what I have to say though."

"Why's that?"

"Before I get to that, let me tell you a few things." Griff said, his gaze directed to the one-way mirror. "The Police Captain in there is thinking that it's a complete waste of time trying to get answers from a kid."

This made Dr. Holt and the cop raise an eyebrow, as well as everyone in the observation room. But the Cap. had a completely different expression; one of surprise. It was true, he did think the whole interrogation was a waste of time since the young man wasn't even part of the SoA, but how'd he know he was thinking that?

"If that's not enough, then how about this: he has a daughter with a genius intellect . . . and a "good grip"."

That did it. "How'd he know that?"

The Lieutenant looked towards the Cap. with concern. "What was that?"

"Nothing, just thinking out loud." David shrugged off, but still.

"If you want more: two guys in there are thinking go going to a Strip-Club called "**Magpie's**", the Lieutenant divorced her husband when he laid a "finger" on her one too many times, soldier boy here is still accusing me being affiliated with the SoA, and you Dr. . . . it involves your resentment of street gangs . . . and what happened to your son. But I won't go into detail, because it's personal, not my place to say."

The Dr. stared at the bound young man in surprise. "H-how did you . . ?"

"You're wondering how I know what I just said, well, let's put it this way: it's been said that the average human only uses ten percent of their brain." Griff elaborated. "But what if I told you that that's only a cover-up, shall I continue."

Though every law enforcement wanted to protest, Dr. Holt spoke up. "Go ahead."

"Well, sometimes it's the case, but in truth; the average human being has countless upon countless thoughts that go through their minds per second. And I can hear those thoughts; in my head."

"So you would have us believe that you are . . . Telepathic?"

"Like a mind reader, get real." The officer quickly dismissed.

"Well, let's put it this way." Griff mused, then did something no one would ever suspect. _Does this prove my claim? _

Everyone nearly jumped back in shock; they heard this guy talking, but his lips weren't even moving! Whether everyone losing their minds, or was this guy messing with their heads, no one knew for sure. The Cap. wanted to pull the plug on the whole interrogation, yet the more they had divulged, the more everyone was starting to become interested from what the bound young man was telling them. Yeah, what he was saying was insane, psychotic at the most, but to know things that weren't even discussed wasn't even said aloud. Unless he had a hidden device on him, which was more than unlikely, that made it sound like he was talking without moving his lips. But how could they explain everyone in the observation room hearing the same thing as if he were standing right next to them?

"My story actually starts with be behind bars, ironically, but last year . . . it started to become seriously screwed up."

* * *

**Neo-Gotham: 2038 - 4 Years Earlier**

Gathering around to watch as two individuals were fighting, and cheered them on to tear each other apart was a group of pre-teen to young-adult youths in a field that appeared to be a prison like area; Juvenile Hall. The two in the middle of all the commotion were, like everyone around, were both teenage boys, one the age of seventeen and the other the age of fifteen. The older of the two was a younger Griff, wearing a black T-shirt with the logo "NGDC" (which was short for Neo-Gotham Detention Center), baggy cargo pants, and brown boots. His opponent, as well as the crowd around them, wore the same clothing, though the younger boy was shorter with pale skin, short ebony black hair, and hade piercing blue eyes. The two circled each other in a fighting stance, smirking at each other arrogantly with a few cuts and bruises covering their faces waiting for one to make the first move. Tired of waiting, the younger of the two rushed at the older opponent. Soon as he was close enough, he tried to strike with a jump snap-kick, only for Griff to catch the foot, then leg sweep the other. As the younger of the two hit the floor, the older performed an axe-kick, but the younger rolled away and back-kicked his opponent in the gut. Seeing the older buckle forward winded, though it was hard to tell since he never showed signs of being in pain, the younger round-kicked him to the face and jumped to his feet when his opponent merely rolled to the side. The younger tried once again to land a hit on his opponent by throwing another punch, only for the older to spin with the fist, then struck with a backfist the caused him to stumble back a bit

"Getting tired, **McGinnis**?" Griff smirked mockingly.

"I'm just getting started!" The younger boy grinned.

The two were just about to continue on with their little match, when guards appeared to disperse the crowd and forcibly separate and restrain the two combatants.

The lead guard, a tall African-American, stepped forward and scrutinized the two distastefully. "You two were warned about this. Lock them up in Solitary!"

The two male youths shared a glance and shrugged as they were led away, this was quite common for the two and not really that big of a deal; neither one was claustrophobic or afraid of the dark. Though it would be hard to believe, these two actually got along just fine, despite all the bumping and bruising they were sharing. They weren't exactly best friends, but the were on friendly terms of having each others back. You just had to look beyond their competitive streaks. Griff met the younger boy, **Terrence McGinnis** (preferred to be called "**Terry**"), years ago when he was no older than thirteen. He got in trouble with the wrong goon and was outnumbered three to one when the goon's thuggish friends decided to overpower him. Griff came to the rescue, and was able to fend of the three as he had done for years in Juve. Though the younger boy claimed he didn't need anyone's help, but was thankful when Griff arrived. Each time Terry was thrown into Juve, it always involved him getting into fights and sending those he fought to the hospital. Though Griff grew mainly in an orphanage and Juve, he saw McGinnis as a sort of little brother, even making a rule that he was the only one to pummel hin up. While walking to Solitary, they heard a guard passing by some cells.

"Ramis, Coburn, Jones; congrats, someone's paying your bail!"

Looking to the cells, three boys that appeared to be Griff's age walked out of a single cell and exchanged glares with the two as they passed by. The first guy was African-American with short black hair and Amber-brown eyes, the second was Caucasian with a bald head and dark-green eyes, and the third, who was a hulking muscular behemoth, had short dark-brown hair and scaly teal eyes. The Afro-American was known as Reginald Ramis, or "Reggie", and the bald guy his best friend Kyle Coburn. They were both known for committing several accounts of domestic violence, theft and robbery, and even disturbing the peace to get a name for themselves. But that all failed in comparison to what the taller youth had done over the years; all of which were unspeakable and some accounts state he nearly kill a lot of people whenever he lost his temper . . . or talk about his father. Yes, it was true, this guy was the most feared out of anyone locked up, even some of the guards feared him a bit. Griff wasn't scared of this thug and neither was Terry, but the big guy always seemed to favor pushing around anyone younger than himself without anyone aiding him. One mistake that was avoidable was that you never mention the word crocodile . . . to **Waylon Jones Jr**.

* * *

On their way to the meeting area, a guard from the girl's side led a young African-American girl through the hallway and caught up with the three. Her name was Teresa Gregor, the fouth member in Waylon's "entourage" who always used her looks to sucker a poor sap before she took something from him. Yes, it was true, these four would commit these acts to make names for themselves. In the meeting area stood a tall man wearing all black, when the four were seated, they saw that he had the most unusual appearance they had ever seen: besides the short black hair that was neatly trimmed and thin moustache on his upper lip, he had very pale skin were completely black eyes with Amber-green that had animalistic slits. His size didn't make his appearance any less intimidating as he was six in-a-half feet tall.

The man gave a smile and spoke in a heavily English accent "Good evening, my name is Dr. **Abel Cuvier**-"

"Da Splicer guy?" Waylon asked in a Cajun accent.

"The very same, and I suppose you're all wondering why I am paying for your release."

"Damn straight!" Ramis sneered.

"Not that we don't appreciate the gesture, but why would you pay our bail?" Kyle asked, suspicious of the nearly animalistic man.

Cuvier went into though when he heard that question. "Excellent question, to answer simply, I'll ask you this: you all wish to make names for yourselves, is that correct?"

"What's it to you if we are?" Teresa demanded.

Cuvier put up both hands. "I'm only curious, especially seeing that some of you have problems with everyday life." His slit eyes fell upon Waylon. ". . . And _family_ . . ."

The hulking youth snarl as soon as he heard the word "family", stood up and was about to get into the Dr.'s face when Kyle stopped him.

"Whoa, easy there, Waylon. I don't think this guy was trying to bring up . . . bad memories."

"Listen, doc, I wouldn't mention "family" around our friend." Teresa stated.

"Yeah, he hates it when people talk about his . . . dad." Ramis added carefully.

"I didn't mean to bring up personal matter, but anyway, allow me to continue. What if I told you that I can make that a possibility?"

"Doubt it, but tell us anyway." Ramis said.

"Well, my studies in splicing, as mentioned before, has allowed me to "rearrange" characteristics of the human body. As you could see here, many have embraced these changes."

Cuvier took out a small device, then pressed a button as holographic images show of people with many anthropomorphic appearances, some more animal than human, and others only on small parts. After seeing a few images of girls withe feline or canine characteristics brought raised eyebrows and small smirks on the faces. So far, they all liked what they were seeing, but why was this guy showing them this?

"Looks awesome, but why show us this?" Kyle asked.

Waylon was wondering the same thing. "Yeah, wut dat hav to do wit us?"

The smile never left the thin man's lips. "As mentioned before, you want to make names for yourselves and I've stated that they can become possibilities. To simply put it: I ask if you would like to join me in my little crusade."

"Crusade?" Teresa cocked an eyebrow.

It came to Kyle instantly. "Wait, you-you want us to become Splicers?"

"Of course, it's dome my well-being wonders." Cuvier replied gesturing his entire form.

"Why?" Waylon questioned.

"You see, I wish to make splicing a way of life, I wish to make history and to be memorized as the man who created a new lifestyle. Not just a "fad" or a "phase", but something that will truly change history for the better; something that is very beautiful, but reversible if needed. You will all have jobs that I am most certain you will be satisfied with and enjoy to no end. I'll be more than willing to share my fame, if you're willing to accept working at my company."

"What company?" Ramis questioned.

"The **Chimera Institute**." Cuvier replied and held out a hand. "Do we have a deal."

The four looked at the man before them, then began to converse among each other; they had to get a few things straight before they knew what they were agreeing too. This guy, a Doctor even, wanted to hire them and give them jobs at some sort of science institute, which begged one question: why? The four of them were street trash who would usually steal valuables and get into fights just because they wanted to prove how tough they were or just to let out some steam.

"What if we say "no"?" Ramis questioned.

"I will respect your decision and be on my way. Though as soon as I leave, you will all be sent to prison, seeing as you're all near the age of eighteen."

"What benefits will we get?" Kyle asked.

"A vast quantity." Cuvier replied, his had still outstretched.

The four shared another look at one another, then smirked and nodded; leading Waylon to walk up to the animalistic man and look him straight in the feral-slit eye.

"Doc, you gotcha a deal." With that said, their hands shook in agreement. "So, wen do we staat?"

Cuvier smirked at the youth's eagerness, his eyes gleaming. "Immediately."

* * *

It had been one week since being in solitary confinement and it was time for Terry to be released as he was doing some push-ups to kill the time that he had left locked up. Both he and Griff were in the TV area where other teens were either talking to one another or playing board games to pass the time besides getting into fights. As much as he enjoyed knocking out someone else's teeth, he also enjoyed some time to just "mellow out", especially if it involved TV. Seeing that no one else was around

"_And in other news: yet another message from the notorious gang called the "Sons of Anarky" was broadcast not too long ago. Only this time, the message was addressed by the leader if the Sons of Anarky himself; Alexander Machin._"

Images change to a dark room where a group of people in white masks and wearing red, white, and blue outfits stood. One of the figures that stood out was a shirtless man with an anarchist "A" shaped scare engraved into his well-muscled chest. He only wore a pair of black cargo pants and a pair of metal-rimmed combat boots. The person himself was a muscular and utterly handsome (in some sense if you were female) and appeared to be in his early thirties with olive-colored skin, wavy blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. As mentioned before, this person was the leader of the SoA and son of Lonnie Machin, the founder and original Anarky; Alexander Machin. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Alexander was much like his father and just as dedicated to his actions. Protesting and rioting wasn't enough, but destroying things that were "corrupt". Though not as brutish as the Ts, insane as the Jokerz, or even murderous as the Knightbreed; the Sons of Anarky were highly intelligent, despite 1/4 of the entire gang was made of _homeless_. Though it was called the _Sons_ of Anarky, there was plenty of members that were female. No, these people were _much_ worse than the three put together. This gang was more like a cult and practically worshiped the original Anarky as a god. A lot of the most dedicated members even had the same symbol branded on their chests to show how loyal they were to their "brothers and sisters". Another thing to know about Machin that he wasn't camera-shy and would show his face from time to time.

"_Neo-Blüdhaven, Neo-Gotham, we are the Sons of Anarky; the Voices of the People-_" The rest of the statement was muted.

"Spare me." Griff scoffed, changing the channel to watch cartoons. "Channel 544, please."

What could be said? Cartoons are both funny and entertaining at the same time with their zaniness, especially if they're Warner Brothers.

Terry noticed the older teen's displeasure. "What you got against the new."

Griff held up three fingers. "One: It was boring, _Dos_: there's never anything worth watching, and _Trois_: I'd sooner rather dunk my head in boiling olive oil then listen to another "Voice of the People" crap." He laughed after watching Daffy Duck noticing he "wasn't" himself. "Plus, this is way _more_ entertaining."

"Got me there." The younger teen laughed. "So, where're you going after your time's up here?"

"Well, believe it or not, a nun from the orphanage has a friend at a law firm and agreed to give me a job; ironic?"

"Tell me about it. You're the last person I'd expect to land something like that, but good luck any way."

A guard walked into the area before anything else could be said. "Griffin! It's time."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" Griff replied, but smirked at the only person that was close to being a friend. "Better not get soft on my; I will come looking for you."

"Right back at ya!" Terry returned a smirk then playfully punched Griff the arm. "Don't die on me, you masochist."

* * *

**Neo**-**Blüdhaven**: **2041 - 1 Year Earlier**

It had been three years since Griff was released and miraculously having kept his clean slate, was doing fine work in Neo-Blüdhaven, the less crime infested yet equally dangerous sibling city of Neo-Gotham. It was with sheer luck, if not a miracle, that he was able to land a job anywhere; let alone Neo-Blüdhaven Mop in hand, he continued to wipe down the hallway. It wasn't an ideal job, but it was better than being homeless. He was even more thankful the head nun from the orphanage was kind enough to land him here, even if it were just across the bridge. After seven hours of mopping/sweeping the floor, and making sure the restrooms were in order, it was time to go back to the place was currently living. Conveniently, it was actually more than it appeared to be on the outside than it did inside; he wasn't going to let just _anyone_ know that though. Pushing his hover compactor to another room, Griff hear the distinct sound of footsteps in one of the rooms to his left.

Knowing that it was too late for anyone else to be around at this late hour, the blonde youth snuck up to the door, then had it cracked open a bit. Just as he suspected, a figure wearing all black, a few gadgets around his upper body, and a pair of night vision goggles. This guy was seated in front of one of the computers with a small rectangular device right next to the hard drive. He more than likely someone who was a little too curious for his own good and the device was something he was using for hacking the system. Since he had a gun with him, he was the one to use senseless violence. Seeing as their was a lack of security guards or droids around, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Can I see your I.D., sir?" Griff asked, startling the intruder.

The black clad figure attempt to reach for something, but was beaten to the punch when he was suddenly grabbed by the wrist, then pulled back. No sooner had the figure realized what had happened, he became winded when the young adult punched him in the gut. He proceeded to kick behind the knee, making the figure buckle to the ground, then elbow him in the chest, which rendered him on the ground; unconscious. Making sure the hacker was out for the count, Griff dragged his body out of the room, place him on the hover compactor, then went on to search for a security guard.

"Tanaga, I don't normally say this to jut anyone. So don't get use to it." Griff mumbled, but smirked a bit. ". . . Thanks."

* * *

**And here starts the beginning of another future DC (technically [formerly] Wildstorm) fic, hope it was to everyone's liking, especially Nomad88. I truly hope I didn't make Terry OOC, I sometimes have a hard time trying to make characters as true as I can. If anyone spots anything out, do _not_ hesitate to send me a PM; I need all the help I can get. Well, if that's all there is to do, have a good one.**


	2. Tanaga

**Okay, King here and with Chap 1 of GB. If no one likes it, I completely understand; is anyone wishes to make one that's good (provided you have enough info on Grifter), then be my guest. To my relief, Nomad88 liked the last chap and now we're both discussing how to make his future appearances darker and more relatable to his liking, because this _does_ takes places in _his_ version of Batman Beyond. Before we start, I'd like to point out one thing: Arkham Knight's been delayed to god damned 2015! I know it'll be worth the wait, but for the love of Jesus Christ, what went wrong with the development?! (Sigh!) Funny thing is that it'll be two years apart like it's predecessors, but I'm a little bummed Paul Dini won't be involved with the story. Awe well. Speaking of which, I've decided to add two characters that come from TopCow comics to the mix who were created by Dini, not going to say who they are (mostly because you already know who they are most likely), but you'll see. I also decided to add one character and assimilate her into the story with a similar yet different origin; one that's teamed up with Grifter before in the comics. Now that everything's been covered, on with the show!**

**Disclaimer: OCs are publicly owned, everything else DC-related is not**.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Tanaga**

**Neo-Blüdhaven: 2039 - 3 Years Earlier**

Entering the small apartment was none other than the young parolee that was Zachary Griffin, or "Griff" as he preferred to be called; it was odd he didn't want to be called "Zach" like any other person. Then again, he wasn't any other person. He heavily walked to the across the floor to the bathroom. Switching on the light as he stood in front of the sink and mirror, the young blonde took off his shirt to reveal a flawless and nicely chiseled six-pack and chest. On the left side was a small bleeding gash. Grimacing, Griff opened the medicine cabinet and took out a canister of alcohol, a small injector gun with a vile of disinfectant, and white bandages. After a few sprays of disinfectant and dabs of alcohol, the wound was dressed carefully and presto! He was good as new, or good enough to move around at least without stumbling around.

Walking out of the bathroom, Griff walked towards the refrigerator and as expected, it had barely a thing to eat or drink. At least it was enough to keep him from growing hungry or thirsty. To think he had actually qualified for SSI (Social Security Income), tough it was only a little since his birth was only an estimate. Nonetheless: he had closing, he had shelter and a job; enough said. Grabbing a soda, Griff took a nice long gulp and let out a loud belch, chuckling and congratulating himself. He though back on how he recently earned his new "battle scar", with was no more than his walk home . . .

* * *

_20 Minuets earlier_

_Walking back to his place, minding his own business as usual, was none other than Griff; without a look of care in his piercing blue eyes. He currently wore a white V-neck, brown hooded coat, black scarf, black cargo pants, and brown boots. What was there to care about period? Sure, he was grateful for the job he had and for the nun finding him a place to live till he had enough to find a better place. But that would take months to save up for a better place to live then where he was now. Stopping by a vendor, Griff took a seat on a bench and watch boats sail by in the bay; the sight of Neo-Gotham in the distance. Another thing that caught his attention was none other than the island prison of Arkham Island, the very location of Arkham Asylum. The teen grimaced a bit. The asylum itself once housed many of Gotham's most insane criminals and a lot of baddies that the Batman faced more than one occasion. The asylum itself went under many "changes". Griff wasn't the one to be a "genius", but he did know a lot of history of old Gotham and Blüdhaven. Like how the asylum would be closed for long periods of time, most of which were temporary shut downs and even when there was once the poor section of Gotham cut off so that "**Arkham** **City**" could be built. An entire city as a prison. Yeah right. All of that sounded completely insane and the young blonde knew insanity. All too well. Besides, he knew his history better than any delinquent; he also knew Arkham City was only a story since the poor section was attacked by Darkseid. Food eaten, trash thrown away, Griff continued on his way . . ._

**_CRASH!_**

_The blonde's head snapped to a nearby alleyway soon as he heard a loud noise. Two choices: A.) Continue on your way home and pretend you heard nothing, or B.) check it out and see what made that noise. And the winner is . . . B! He was going to see what all the commotion was, besides where would all the fun be if no one got off their lazy hides and go explore the unknown once in a while. City, state, or country. Walking down the alleyway, the sound of a shrill scream. Surrounding a young blonde haired woman were three members of the **T's** gang; one of the three most infamous gangs from Neo-Gotham. The name said it all, the three had their entire bodies painted white with a red T over their faces and also had their heads shaved bald. Another thing that was known was that they wore anything grey, black or both. Odd, what were these three doing so far across the bridge? Were they lost or plainly just too stupid to tell the difference between their cities? He didn't care at the moment as his attention remained on how they were around the woman. The woman (Christ, Griff wished he was slightly older, then maybe he'd have a chance with her) appeared to be in her early twenties and was looking good to the male eye. In a nerdy way. She wore a white button up shirt, grey blazer, square rimmed glasses, grey business skirt, and white heeled-shoes. The woman herself (again nerdy) had a figure any womanly would kill for, nicely tan skin, long curly blonde (brighter and cleaner than the youth's) hair, and bright sea-green eyes that were filled with terror. It appeared that she was an aspiring lawyer or an intern by the looks of her briefcase. He didn't know what was going on or what it was all about, but seeing the woman hug her briefcase for protection and the three gang members approach her. Waisting no time, Griff pulled his scarf over his mouth and hood over his head, then picked up two trash can lids as he rushed at the three. By the time he was noticed by the four, one of the T's had their face smashed on by a garbage can lid and forced to the ground by another. His two friends were too slow to act when Griff grew both lids, which collided with their chests, allowing their almost victim to edge away a bit, but stop to look at her savior._

_Looking to blonde woman, he saw she was in shock yet had gratitude gleaming in her eyes. "Get out of here!" He shouted, but the woman remained where she was. "Get out of here!"_

_That message went through, the woman running as far as her dainty feet could carry her. Griff reverted his attention to the three T's that were slowly picking themselves, and they didn't look too happy about his little "intervention" with their little "lady friend"._

_One of them, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties with a lanky build and wore gas station overalls took out a knife. "You're a deadbeat!"_

_"Bring it." Griff smirked under his scarf, dropping into a fighting stance._

_One of the T's, a tall and muscular guy that appeared to be a college freshman, took the first shot as he charged at the hooded teen, then threw two punches his way. The first one met it's mark, which boosted the muscular thug's ego . . . but was caught off guard when he realized Griff faced being punched and spun into a 360 tornado kick to the T's' face. He followed by grab__bing both the thug's arms and pulled him into a thrust kick into the gut, then pulled again to deliver a strong clothesline to he chest. The second T came from behind, grabbing and locking both arms, the force him to a nearby wall. Soon as they were near the wall, Griff lifted off his feet and along said wall and flipped right over the T. The gang member in question stopped himself just was he was about to crash into the wall, only to feel pain arise from his right side. After punching the thug's side, Griff kicked the back of the right leg, then grabbed him by the color of his black sweater and smashed him into the wall. Slowly turning his head, he jumped back just as a baton was about to connect with his right eye. It appeared the T with the knife was someone who had thing for weaponry sine he carried a blade in one hand and a collapsible blunt in the other. Grinning like a maniac the T's member slashed with the knife and swatted with the baton, Griff barely able to dodge and weave; apparently this guy was more capable than his two comrades, despite his outward appearance. Griff was pushed back after he was kicked to the wall. Though the kick winded him, Griff showed no sign of being harmed (provided if anyone could see his face) and went back into a fighting stance. The T came at him again, swinging the baton near the blonde's head, which he quickly blocked. But as soon as that happened, the T thrust out with the knife. Griff lean forward a bit, the T smirking. Thinking the blade reached it's mark. Griff then stood back up tall, and to the T's shock, the concealed teen held the knife wielding hand by the arm by the wrist. Though the blade didn't penetrate through the skin as the T would have hoped, it did leave a pretty good gash along he left side of the figure's body. Looking between the cut on his shirt and the T, Griff's eyes began to narrow._

_"Not shway, man." The hooded teen growled, teeth clench._

_The T had no time to say anything when Griff pulled him close and smashed his forehead into the thug's face with a head butt. The blonde continued as he twisted both wrists and kicked the T upwards soon as the thug lurched forward, then twist both arms together and threw the T over his shoulder; finishing the T with a falling elbow to the gut. Griff looked around and smirked at his handy work, then to the entrance of the alleyway. The cops were no doubt going to arrive; if there was a time to leave, now would do. Looking down, he noticed one of the weapons one of the T's had; the collapsible baton. Picking it up and twirling it in his fingers, he felt as though it were love at first sight. It was then that he noticed the T that tried to stab him trying to get back onto his feat, albeit wobbly. Seeing that the tear on his shirt was excuse/reason enough, he knelt down to the T's level and placed a hand on the gang member's shoulder. The T looked up to see the hooded guy looking him in the eye._

_"Thanks for the gift . . ." Griff said casually, the brought it down on the T._

* * *

"Damn . . ." The blonde teen cursed, throwing the torn piece of clothing into a hamper. "Just got that shirt . . ."

It was for a fact that he felt pain like any person else, he was human after all; he just had good enough tolerance to make it look as though it was a small sting. Besides, he was never the one to beg for mercy or cringe in fear whenever someone wanted to mug him. After dabbing some alcohol and bandaging himself nice and tight, Griff walked into his room, then flopped down onto his bed from exhaustion. He didn't feel like falling asleep or anything, he just felt that he needed to lay down for a few hours; then he'd fall asleep. As he laid there, the young blonde began to recount his time in the orphanage up until recently; a lot of it full of tantrums, getting into fights, practically living his life in Juve, and even his little "get together" with that punk brat McGinnis. Griff smirk and chuckled remembering when they first met. They absolutely _hated_ each other, not enough to wish them dead, but enough to say a lot of curse words that boys their age should never use _even_ as adults. Yeah. That bad. Their conflicting relationship smoothed a bit no longer after Jones and his thugs came into their life. Soon as everyone found out who he and his father was, no one dared to stand against him or even look him straight in the eyes whenever he walked by. The guy was the most sadistic son of a bitch, or croc, that had ever been thrown behind the walls of Juve; a real animal like dear ol' papa. Sure, the guy was taller and stronger than the two, but he had no chance whenever he was doubled team on without his flunkies to bail him out. Out of the punks in Juve, besides the wild rider Sean Miller (who was the biggest ass Griff had the displeasure of making contact with), Jones was like a teenage kingpin with his own fighting ring; complete with best should anyone get bail. The next question begged for an answer: how did Jones and his posse get bail anyway? Shirking his head, Griff tried to concentrate on feeling tired rather than think of his time in Juve. Though as his thoughts on his younger years dispersed, thoughts of his fight with the T's earlier. It was bad enough those bald, white and red punks caused trouble in Neo-Gotham, now some of them were trying to make a base of operations in Neo-Blüdhaven? Was this godforsaken city going down the crapper or something?! His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at the front door of the apartment.

Groaning to himself, Griff stood up and walked to the front door. "Christ, who could that be?"

Not that he didn't like visitors, mainly from nun who got him the apartment and job, but aside from that he just really liked having privacy. Six days of the week. It wouldn't make sense if it was mail, mailboxes were at the entrance of the building. Even so, if it were a door to door salesbot, he'd have the absolute pleasure of slamming the door in it's face. If it persisted, he'd break it in half. Not bothering to look through the peephole, the young blonde swung opened the door in moderate annoyance.

"What d'ya want?" But looking around the hallway, he saw that there wasn't a soul around; must've been a knock-knock version of ding-dong-ditch. "Damn." Just as he was about to close the door, when something caught his eye. There, in front of his doorway entry, was a small grey rectangular object that resemble a small cinder block. Eyebrow raised Griff picked up the object, then after looking around to see if he could find even a small trace of whoever left it there; he went back inside. Placing the object on the table, the blonde couldn't help but wonder a few thing: what was this thing, who left it at his doorstep, and for the more pressing matter of all; why? Griff gave the object a good long inspection to see if there was anything that would point out anything that would give a clue to it's purpose. It was but a few minuets that he noticed a small black ID like card on the back and when he took it off, the top opened up to reveal a black, reflective screen. As if instinct, Griff swept the card over the screen, which made a peculiar scanning noise. Odd, it was almost like a small version of the ATMs he saw around town, only without the part where it spewed out cash cards. Not that he wasn't satisfied with the money he was receiving now, but still; money is money. The teen was snapped out of his thoughts when the object suddenly came to life. The top of the "scanner" opened up and two small, holographic orbs appeared, one red and the other blue; this

"If you are interested, press the blue sphere. If not, press the red sphere and this message will disassemble without leaving a trace." Griff read aloud.

_To begin, go to this area between this hour and midnight. If late, even by a second, the message will disassemble and entry will be closed off; permanently._

This raised an eyebrow to this. Was this someone's idea of a joke? Was this all a part of some hidden camera prank? Because if it was, there was going to be Hell to pay. What the Hell? He pressed the blue sphere, then both spheres became a map of sorts to somewhere, which was in the Neo-Blüdhaven construction area.

Come to this location within 24 hours. Failure to arrive in time will result in . . .

* * *

**Neo-Gotham: Chimera Institute**

Out of all the most shadiest places of Neo-Gotham, one of the top ten would undoubtedly the Chimera Institute of Genetic Science. The institute itself was owned by disgraced scientist turned genetic engineer, Dr. Abel Cuvier. Though it was a site to behold and a lot of Gotham's finest received a Ph. D.D and over certifications of degree, it was a mystery on how institute came to be. The last time anyone in Gotham had seen Cuvier was when he left the country and spent the next few years in Europe and small parts of Asia. When he arrived back in the United States people were both shocked and surprised the man had changed his appear. Who other but Waylon and his crew were taking note of the entire building, and they were none too pleased. A lot made comments that every night in Gotham was Halloween in many areas, but this place felt more like a horror movie than a research center.

"Damn, this place gives creeps." Kyle grumbled.

"What's the matter? You need someone to hold your hand?" Reggie remarked.

"Shut up man!" Kyle snapped angrily.

Teresa decided to intervene "Both of you knock it off! We didn't come here so that you two could slag each other!"

"Simmer down. Doc said to meet him inside." Waylon stated when he spotted a familiar someone approaching and smirked. "Well, speak of the devil!"

Before them was Dr. Cuvier himself. "Welcome, I'm so glad you're all on time."

"Had to be, we'd be on our way to prison if we hadn't." Teresa replied, arms akimbo.

"Of course, before we go any continue on, however, I'd like to direct you all to to this statue." Cuvier said, gesturing to an odd-looking statue: it was an animal with a head of a lion on the left side and upper torso, the head of a ram on the right and hind torso, and the tail was that of a serpent. "The Chimera, a most interesting beast of folklore and mythology. It has the tail of a serpent and two heads: the head of a ram on one side of it's body, and the other head differs from that of a lion or a tiger." The doctor explained with admiration. "What this has to do with your presence here, well, follow me." The doctor directed, leading his new volunteers inside.

The four followed the doctor down a long corridor that was lined with doors with different rooms, each had tinted windows for some reason. This added more unsettling feelings, but the four pressed on. They already signed papers and they rather be slagged than go to prison. Food taste like crap. They stopped when they saw Cuvier looking into a console that they frequently saw whenever they broke into labs like this; eye scanner. Obviously the security was no joke in this institute. No wonder some of the windows, inside and out, were tinted so dark. A few seconds passed when the doors opened, allowing Cuvier to lead the four into one of the biggest labs Waylon and his crew ever saw. And they even tried to rob a few! It had everything that a lab needed for experiments: beakers, chemicals, animals for testing, machinery, and all sorts of tools. The dimly light, however, made it feel as if it were an old horror movie Kyle once saw. It was anything but vacant when two figures approached; a man and a woman. Both wore the same thing as Cuvier, only they wore white lab coats and woman wore a short skirt with high-heeled boots.

"These are my colleague, **Professor Dorian Langstrom**." The brown haired man nodded. "And **Dr. Zelda Valentin**." the woman smiled, her eyes filled with mystery.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance." She had a sort of European accent, but it was hard to pinpoint what country.

"Hang on, Langstrom?" Kyle looked to Dorian. "You related to that guy, what was it, Man-Bat-"

His sentence was cut off when he found Langstrom holding a scalpel next to his jugular, looking none too pleased. "Don't you dare mention that weakling's name! I have no affiliation with one with little ambition!"

Though Waylon was as shocked as the rest of his crew, he didn't like the way he was holding a sharp surgical instrument at one of his own and decided to intervene. Dr. Cuvier was fortunate to speak up when he saw the look on the hulk of a young man's rage burn in his eyes.

"Dorian! That's enough!" Cuvier shouted, gaining everyone's attention. If there was one thing the doctor didn't tolerate, it was when people didn't behave themselves. "He didn't know, and we've talked about these little 'outbursts'."

The brown haired man looked between Cuvier and Kyle, then sighed as he released his grip on the scalpel. "I'm sorry Able."

"You'll have to forgive Dorian. He doesn't like to talk about his family." Zelda said. "He had a . . . very dreadful "falling out" years ago. I myself have trouble speaking of my own family."

"And I though you had 'family problems'." Teresa remarked to her leader.

Waylon shook his head. "Apparently that ain't the case."

"No, it's not, but let's move on to why you're all here." Cuvier stated as he walked to a control panel. "Would Subject L, F and T please report to the lab?"

Soon as the Dr. finished his announcement, a pair of doors opened, and gave Waylon's crew the shock of their life! Standing before them were what appeared to be child-sized amphibians with humanoid appearances, and were even wearing clothes: white dress shirts with ties on the collars, red vests over the shirts, brown blazers over the vests and shirts, brown slack pants and white shoe flaps on their bare feet. The only thing they had in common was that they both had crimson-red eyes. The differences was that one had dark-green scales and wore a flat cap, while the other had light-green scales and wore a top hat.

"Look, dear brother, we have visitors!" The dark-green amphibian said excitedly with an accent.

"I see that, brother. How exciting!" The lighter green amphibian smiled.

Reggie was the first to break the silence. ". . . The hell is this?"

"These two are my assistants; the twins, Mr. Frog and Mr. Toad." Zelda explained, kneeling down and hugged the two. Both amphibians rubbed their cheeks against her happily. "They may look small and revolting, but they're just so full of surprises."

"Shwaaaaayyyyy . . . we-we're not going to shrink like they did are we?" Kyle nervously asked.

"No. They were born with Dwarfism before they were spliced, so you're safe . . . for now."

The four looked up to see another shocking sight, only this one was female. She appeared to be Teresa's height and wore a red top that exposed her bellybutton, white vest and white pants with boots. It was her appearance that really stunned her new audience: her skin was an unnatural tawny color, her fingernails looked razor sharp, her long, auburn hair was messy in every sense, and her eyes were amber with a slit pupil. Her overall appearance looked feline.

"Like what Doc Valentin said: don't underestimate them." The lioness girl added.

Cuvier smiled as he presented the third splicer. "Gentlemen, lady,Leona. One of most . . . interesting volunteers."

"Damn girl, what the doc give you?" Teresa inquired walking around the feline girl in awe.

Reggie also took the time to inspect the sliced female, and he liked what he saw. "Not bad." He remarked attempting a pass at her rear . . .

All of a sudden, the young African-American found his wrist grabbed, then pushed against the wall. In his face was Leona, and she looked downright pissed! Her eyes slight and fiery with primal fur, teeth barred, allowing all to see unnaturally sharp canines. If that weren't enough, her nailed were at the youth's throat; ready to rip it open at any given moment.

"Try that shit again, and we'll see how long you'll live with ought your fucking head RIPPED OFF!" The splicer roared.

"Miss Leona can be very frightening, dear brother." Toad whimpered as he as his brother held each other in fear.

Frog nodded in agreement "That she is, brother, that she is."

"LEONA! RELEASE HIM!" Cuvier shouted. The feline girl looked between the "good" doctor and Reggie, before releasing her hold on Reggie and backed away. "Now then, before there be any more outbursts," He cast a glare to his comrade and and subject, who both evaded the gaze. "I think now is the time."

He pressed a button an a table as a compartment opened, revealing a miniature column with four viles; each filled with strange-looking, green liquid and an image of four different wild beasts.

Teresa saw what was in the vile. "Hold up. You had these things ready?"

"I just thought I'd plan a head and choose what creature of the Animal Kingdom best suited your . . . _unique_ personalities." Cuvier replied, taking out a single vile. He placed it into an injection gun, then approached Waylon. "This one, my dear Waylon, I conjured up. Just. For. You."

Soon as Waylon's eyes caught sight of the injection gun, they nearly popped out of their sockets. "No . . oh ho no! You didn't! You shouldn't have!"

"Oh, but I did. And since you're the leader of this little group, would you do the honor?" The doctor presented the injection.

"Honors all mine, doc." Waylon took the injection gun from Cuvier's hand. He pressed the gun to his jugular, the pulled the trigger to inject the serum. Nothing happened at first and Waylon didn't feel anything out of place. "Don't any feel different. How long-ARGH!"

"You all right, man?" Kyle asked in concern.

The hulk of a youth didn't reply, instead he let out a loud scream; his voice becoming more primal every minuet that passed. His pose looked on in helpless shock as they noticed significant changes from their leader: his eyes were changing color, his irises were starting to flat out, and his teeth were beginning to become longer! The massive youth thrashed around, knocking everything around him including equipment to the ground, then stumbled into the shadows. Cuvier and his comrades remained calm and smirked by what they were seeing. Just as soon as it began, Waylon let out one final roar, then went quiet. His pose stood frozen from what they saw, but regained their senses soon as they noticed their leader gone quiet.

"Waylon? You still alive?" Reggie called.

"That didn't tickle." Waylon chuckled, his voice sounding raspier than before. "But damn, what a rush!"

"Then, by all means, Mr. Jones, show us the "new you"." Cuvier called.

Waylon complied, standing up, then approached the group. each step sounded heavier than the last; harder than any normal person. As he stepped towards the light, his crew began to notice his approaching form become larger and larger with every step. Another thing that made him stand out was that his eyes were now a golden-Amber color. Soon as he reached the light, they saw he had grown to be at least 12 ft tall! Not only that, but his overall appearance was something to behold . . .

"Jesus Christ." Teresa murmured.

"Well, how do I look?" Waylon asked.

His pose remained silent, when Reggie grinned and nodded. "Killer."

* * *

**Neo-Blüdhaven: Construction Area**

A hover cab diving up to a closed construction lot was a a common thing in the Midtown District of Blüdhaven since it was busy for all types of business. Normally someone in a business suit would be seen exiting, but and out from the backseat came Griff. After pressing the "accept button", the box showed a map that led to to this very area. What he was doing here and why the box said to be here was beyond the blonde. Fortunately enough, he had enough cash cards to get him there and back if needed.

"Keep the change." Griff told the driver as he paid his way and allowed the cab to fly away.

Griff took out the box to see if it would do anything. He wasn't disappointed when when the object began to vibrate violently, then fly right out of his hand! The blonde cursed before giving chase to the now airborne box through the construction yard. The thing was fast, but Griff didn't read Parkour guides out of boredom; they did have _some_ value to them. He didn't have to chase the device any further as he soon came to an abrupt halt when he saw the device hovering in front of an old container. Griff slowly crept up to the object, just in case it would fly away again. In one swift movement, he snatched the box to see where it had led him. He looked up, only to come face to face with an old-fashioned container that looked like it should've been left at the docks rather than in a construction yard. This was it? This is what he had to go all across town to look for?

The blonde shook his head in disappointment. "Well, it's official: this was cheap, and a waste of time."

Griff considered turning back and calling a cab back to his flat, when he noticed something on the container's entrance. It looked like a sort of lock with a square shaped hole, which was the same size and length as the object in his hands. He looked between the hole and the object when his curiosity got the better of him. He placed the object into the hole. At first, nothing happened. It was then that a bright light flashed before Griff's eyes, leading him to cover his eyes. The light soon died down and Griff was able to look at the container. Soon as he did, the opening to the container sunk into the ground; revealing to the blonde a flight of stairs as lights turned on automatically. Curious still, he looked around to make sure no one was looking, then descended down the stairs. As he got to the bottom, a pair of double doors opened up and Griff found himself in something that was too weird for words. It was a hidden bunker. A vast white room with a large computer, a shooting range, some training dummies, and even a display case. What was inside in the case was something he couldn't believe. It appeared to be some sort of out fit: a black shirt, brown kavlar vest with two green straps in an 'X' shape a cross the chest, grey overcoat, brown cargo pants, black boots, red gloves with black fingers, and a red bandanna-like mask with red streaks across the eyes. Also in the case were a pair of black handgun-like weapons with 44 Caliber, 4 inch barrel, and nuzzles that looked like they were from taser guns that were used in the 2010's.

"The hell is this?" Griff placed a hand on the display.

The sound of static caught the blonde's attention and saw that the monitor had somehow turned itself on. The picture took a few minuets, but as soon as it did, Griff blinked a dozen times in a row. On the screen of the monitor was a toled pale-Causation person with chiseled facial feature, dirty blonde hair, and crystal colored eyes. Was this some kind of joke? At first, Griff assumed that it was an image of himself, but noticed right away that the guy on the screen was wearing a black short-sleeve shirt and a green vest like the ones in the display. It was at that moment that the blonde realize that it was a completely different person that was on the monitor, who looked eerily similar to himself [Griff]!

"_To whoever finds this, I may already dead. I don't have a lot of time to explain, but I'll try to get to every detail, though not too much. Name's Cole, Cole Cash, but to everyone else; I'm known as the **Grifter**._"

This caused the blonde to raise an eyebrow. Grifter? That was a very . . . _unique_ name of sorts.

"_I know, it's not much of a name, but it was the only thing that came to mind after what I've been through . . ._"

Griff continued to listen on the recording and soon found himself hearing about some strange things this Cash guy been through: from being a member of a Covert Op unit to joining a team of people who were equally "unique" as he was when he "used his head". Cash even went into detail about alien races that assimilated into the human race and raging war on the group he was part of. The deeper he went in, the more the blonde became interested. Yes, it was true; Griff was actually more intelligent than anyone would give him credit for. Sure, he'd fall asleep is something (or some _one_) was boring enough. But that never meant he wasn't paying attention, he just had his own way of learning. Though Griff wouldn't admit it out loud, he was beginning to feel for the long-deceased blonde after hearing a few tragedies in his life. The part where he showed a woman named Zealot, as well as an Amazon-like group called the Coda, had his interest nearly more than anything. Another thing was when Cash went on about a war between two alien races; the **Kherubim** and the **Daemonites**. He even used guns; something no one would see in in a lifetime. It was when Cash got to mentioning his brother was when something Griff never saw a guy so gruff do before; he was crying. After getting up to speed, Cash got to the part where he and a woman named **Zealot** were in a jam, but wouldn't say what was happening.

"_-Funny thing is that the word 'Grifter' is a fancy term for con artist. Even when I joined the **WildC.A.T.s**, I doubt it excused what I did before. I was sent to **Arkham Asylum** and was even interrogated by **Batman** himself; need I say more. Anyway, after hearing a boring lecture, you must be thinking 'What's this guy's god damned point'?_"

"May of crossed my mind." Griff smirked knowingly.

"_The point is that since you're going through the same thing I went through before joining **Team 7**, I have an offer for you: to become a new Grifter._"

This shocked the blonde.

Becoming a . . . superhero?

This was something that was far out of what he was qualified for . . . yet he felt something in the back of his mind tell him otherwise . . .

"_How I became Grifter was a hot mess and one of the many things that haunted me for as long as I lived, but you can be something different. Obviously you'll be someone who has a social problem, but you have an extraordinary gift that I neglected most of the time I was on the run. You can start as something good as well as be something good. not so much to change, but still._"

Two orbs appeared before Griff, both were red and blue individually like from the box that brought him there.

"_If you choose the red orb: then this whole area with shut down completely, and you'll be able to go back to living a normal life. Should you choose the red orb, however: then we'll be continuing on a path that's not for the faint of heart. Do know this: once you accept, there'll be no turning back. The choice is yours and only yours to make. Take as long as you want._"

The screen went blank, leaving the young blonde to look between the orbs; which should he do? This was a lot to take in, but at the same time, his life was dull compared what he saw in the footage.

". . . What am I doing?" Griff asked himself, pressing one of the orbs.

The screen flash back on to reveal Cash's smug face.

"_So you accepted, eh? You're crazier than I thought._"

The younger blonde shrugged. He'd been called worst.

"_I like that. Since you're so eager to begin, you'll need to start with what I went through before becoming Grifter: discipline. And it just so happens I know just the person, if she hasn't kicked the bucket already._"

This caused Griff to raise an eyebrow, _she_?

"_You'll need to take these essentials with, plus one item._"

A hissing noise was heard to Griff's right as a large cylinder Rose out of the floor and opened up to reveal a green duffle and something else that interested the blonde; a Japanese Katana. Or at least, it resembled a Katana. It was a single-edged blade, had the right size and length, the handle was just right, it even had the hand guard and scabbard. But really made it stand out was that the blade itself was straight rather than the usually curved . . .

"_You are to take this to an old friend of mine . . . Who just so happens to live in Gotham City . . ._"

* * *

**Neo-Gotham: Fish Market**

It took Little to no time at all for rail-travel when Griff found himself back in Neo-Gotham.

Never would he have ever though he'd every be back in this dinky hellhole this soon, but the directions he was given led to the fish market .

"Fresh fishy!" The woman announced.

_Worst. Accent. Ever._

The blonde walked up to the stand. "_Konnichiwa_, sir! You buy fishy?"

"As much as I love seafood, no. I'm actually here to find some one." Griff said, then took out something from his duffle-bag.

"You meet date with girl? Not very good place to meet-" The woman replied.

Griff cut her off by revealing the Katana from the bag. "Actually, I'm wondering if you know someone who knows something about this."

Upon seeing the weapon from the bag, the elder looked around, then back to the youth. "Fallow me."

* * *

Following the elderly woman through a dark alley behind her fish stand, Griff couldn't help but wonder where they were going. It wasn't because he was afraid, far from it, but somewhere in the back of his mind a voice was telling him that the old hag wasn't what she appeared to be. Not that it interested him, she was far too old for his taste; even those thoughts were disturbing enough. Still, something about the way she talked seemed a little off. Almost as if it were . . . fake. It was when the aged woman stopped that he too halt in place. Did they reach the place? His answer came in the form of a door opening and reveal what appeared to be a Japanese-style garden, complete with a Koi pond. Around the garden was what appeared to be a ten story tall Japanese building of sorts, some walls having sliding doors as entries.

The he woman turned to Griff and bowed. "Wait here."

Though he was confused by the vendor leaving him by himself, Griff complied and soon as the woman vanished behind a sliding door, he dropped his bags and looked down into the Koi pond. He usually wasn't the one for nature, but the blonde had to admit that looking at Koi fish swimming in their pond as well as the trickling of the water gave him a feeling of . . . serenity. It was as if he, for once in his life, felt peace. Sappy, yet true . . . The happy feeling soon left when he heard a sharp creak; alerting him that he had company. He was barely able to dodge a flying sidekick from an unexpected assailant, but was unable to dodge when the figure spun a back fist to his face. He didn't utter a sound, but that really hurt. Shaking off the daze, the blonde got a good look at his attacker and was surprised to see that it was an African-American guy with a dreadlocks ponytail that was the same age. What really got Griff's attention was that he was wearing a white Karategi with a black belt around the waits. Evidently this person was a student of this school. Why he was on the attack, the blonde didn't know, but if it was a fight he wanted, then it's a fight he'll get.

Smirking, Griff got into a defensive stance as he and his opponent made a circle and stared each other down. The guy made the first move and came at the blonde with a jump front snap-kick, but Griff side-stepped and struck his opponent on the side with a spin back-kick. The assailant stumbled a few feet, then side-rolled back into a fighting stance. Griff gave a gesture for his opponent to make the next move. The assailant came at the blonde and brought two successful strikes in the form of a front kick to the gut and hook hick to the face. But as he went for a straight punch, Griff caught the fist and locked it on the wrist.

The blonde looked at his opponent, cracked his neck, then smirked. "My turn."

Griff kicked at the assailant on the side of his right leg, causing the student to buckle down, then at the wrist and struck the assailant in the chest with his arm; clothes lining him. Griff gave the downed student a smug smile, but sensed he wasn't out of the woods just yet when a sword nearly slashed its way through his arm. It was one of the "dumb luck" situations that he was able to dodge just as the blade was about to makes contact with his skin. Looking towards the new assailant, the blonde saw that it was another student wearing a Karategi top and black Hakama pants, only this one was Caucasian with short red hair. In his hands was a traditional Japanese Katana sword, and the look on his face said he meant business. Remembering the Katana he had, Griff dove straight to his duffle bag just as his new opponent swung the blade at him, but only managed to graze his shirt. The blonde looked to his shirt, then back at his assailant with the look of disgust.

"I really liked this shirt." Griff growled.

Pulling out the sword from it's scabbard, Griff got into a stance like his opponent. It was one of the weirdest things, he never held a sword like this in his entire life, but the way he held his sword felt . . . natural. Almost as if not only he was made use use such a marvelous blade, but it was also as if this very sword was specifically made for _him_. Putting those thoughts aside, he focused on the situation at hand and traded blows with his opponent. Though it seemed both were evenly matched at every slash and parried, Griff decided to put an end to their little dance. Deflecting a stab from his assailant, Griff charged into his opponent's defense, held his sword in a reverse grip as he brought the shaft into the the redhead's gut, then finished him off with an elbow to the back of his neck. Sensing another presence, he turned to face whoever . . .

_**CRACK!**_

A sudden strike across his face sent him to the ground, but rolled into a a crouching position. Looking up, he saw that his third assailant wasn't only his age . . . but it was a _she_! From what the blonde saw, she also wore a Gi top and Hakama pants, but it was her appearance that got him interested. He was Asian with tanned cream-colored skin, a figure one would see in a supermodel (not bad for Griff's taste), long raven-black hair that reached to her waist, and emerald-green eyes. In her hands was, from what the blonde heard about on TV, was a **Naginata**. The Naginata was a traditional Japanese pole arm that was similar to a spear, only with a curved blade at the end of a long pole instead to of a point. Though he'd like to get to know her better, he knew that girls with sharp, pointed weapons were likely to kill than have a pleasant conversation. Aside from that, Griff had more important things to do. Wiping where he was struck, the blonde saw he was bleeding. This raised an eyebrow at the female. Twirling the pole arm with extreme expertise and skill, the girl took a stance and gave her opponent a confident smirk. She then stood upright while holding the Naginata in a reverse grip, then bowed. Griff returned the bow out of common sense, though his eyes never left his opponent, then went into a stave with his Katana. Motioning for the girl to make the first move, she charged at him. She went for a stab, which the blonde dodged. What he couldn't dodge was when the female brought a round kick to his left side and back-fist to the right side of his face. Those strikes did hurt, but Griff never let out a cry or moan in his life, and he wasn't about to now.

Shaking off his daze, Griff came in at the girl, who pushed him back by butting him in the gut with the opposite end of her pole arm. She came at him again and successfully struck him with a jump snap-kick. Finding himself on the ground again, Griff rolled out of the way of the twirling blade of the Naginata. Deciding their dance had to come to an end, the blonde brought up his Katana to block one of the slashes and abruptly pulled on both blades. The girl buckled over and was met by a kick to her chest. Griff got into a low crouching position and helf out his sword out. After regaining her bearing, the female assailant charged again at Griff and attempt to slash at him. The blonde spun around on the groun, while at the same time using his Katana to trade blows and deflect any attack that came his way. Then, just as he did with the red-headed swordsman spinning his own sword in reverse grip until the unsharpen side around the base of the pole, Griff pulled in his opponent. As as fast as he could, Griff struck the girl in the gut and flipped her to the ground. The female allowed a grunt to escape her lips. Just as Griff came at her again, the girl spun around and the blonde found the blade of the Naginata at his jugular. Slowly, she stood up with his face close to his.

Though it appeared that the female was victorious, Griff gave a small smirk. "Looks like you got me, but if I go down-", He said when his female opponent found his sword near her jugular, then looked at him in surprise. "I'm taking you with me." He stated seriously.

"Enough!" Standing at the entrance was the fish vendor. Only she too wore a Karategi. "I have seen enough."

All three of the assailants walked to the entrance, stood tall, then bowed with their heads faced down.

"I must say, I'm very impressed. You left a good amount of openings, and yet you were still able to fight back." Griff looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"Finally decided to drop the accent, huh?" Griff questioned.

The woman merely gave him a knowing smirk. "What can I say? It helps with business."

"Among other things." The younger woman mused jokingly.

"Kairi Tanaga, I presume? Maybe you know what this is." Griff sheathed the sword then tossed it to the older woman. "And if I maybe Frank, I'll slag you all if you call me that," Griff cocked a thumb to the female student. "She's the only one who actually put up a good fight."

Tanaga gave another knowing smirk. "I should hope so, otherwise my granddaughter would be in deep trouble." This caused the blonde to look at the younger female, who in tern gave him a knowing smirk of her own and a wink. As Tanaga examined the Katana, her eyes went wide. "Where did you get this?" She asked, though her eyes didn't leave the sword.

"Right, he didn't give it to me personally, but what was his name again?" Griff racked his brain to remember. "Oh yeah, Cash, Cole Cash."

The older woman snapped her towards the blonde with a shocked expression, almost as if he had mentioned someone she was familiar with. She turned her attention to the blade

"You two," Tanaga looked to her male students, "Back to your studies."

"_Hai_, _Sensei_!" The two bowed, then walked away.

"Ana, you stay." Tanaga stated, looking Griff up and down. "It seems he knows an old . . . 'acquaintance' of mine. Follow me."

"Hai!" The younger woman, Ana, sounded off. Griff admired the girl's figure, then caught her giving him another wink.

The blonde raised an eyebrow, even he liked the way Ana walked, he was suspicious that the old hag seemed familiar with Cash.

"What have I got myself into?" Griff shook his head as he followed.

* * *

Upcoming: Training

* * *

**And that wraps up the first chap of Griff's journey to become Grifter; starting with his physical and mental training in Martial Arts from an old friend of a certain rich man. Certainly hope Nomad likes the way things are progressing, because I intend to pass the torch to him when I'm finished with this story. Also, to make the story more like the way he makes it, I though I'd make the chaps similar (but not too much) to his own (hope I haven't offended you Nomad). If there's nothing else that needs be said, then I guess it's time to make like a banana and split. Laterz!**


End file.
